


Falling Together & Coming Apart

by LotusJoy



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Reichenbach Falls, Reichenbach Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusJoy/pseuds/LotusJoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on BBC Sherlock</p><p>I own nothing!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1! 
> 
> Art work done by: Bec!  
> Tumblr: http://archibec.tumblr.com/post/41342548142  
> You can also find her on: http://mouseluva.deviantart.com/
> 
> Enjoy!!!

3 years..

It's been three long and arduous years, Sherlock is dead.. It's not like he can't say it anymore.. He has grown so accustomed to the idea that it is second nature.. He openly acknowledges Sherlock is gone. He isn't coming back.. John isn't okay with this, but he has to be, there is no other option..

The flat is as it was left that day. Sherlock's files, and books, his laptop and his violin, all sit where they were left, collecting dust.

John sits in his chair across from Sherlock's 3 years, to the day.. Sherlock is gone..

John can still see the entire thing, in vivid detail. Usually it invades his sleep, tormenting him in his dreams.He stands far away, watching his friend stand on the edge. Suddenly, like a gust of wind lifted him up, his best friend, Sherlock Holmes, falls.

He watches him fall, seemingly in slow motion until he disappears behind a building. John's mind runs through various scenarios in the time that his view of Sherlock is obscured.

Maybe it wasn't him, maybe it was but he landed on something to cushion his fall, maybe there was rigging.

After the collision with the biker, his vision tunnels but, he quickly refocuses to where his friend lays, bloodied on the sidewalk ahead.

John stumbles quickly to his friend's side grasping for his hand. John cries out, hoping SOMETHING will save his friend. He stomach clenches at the sight of his friend sprawled on the concrete, the pale expanse of skin across his cheekbone, splattered with blood; his own. John nearly gags, the life force which sustained his friend is spilled on the sidewalk in a haematic puddle forming around Sherlock's head. He can see his eyes, Sherlock Holmes brilliant eyes, now devoid of life staring up at him. Before he can attempt to revive his friend he is quickly escorted away and treated for a minor concussion caused by the collision with the biker.

The time within the first year of Sherlock's death progressed slowly for John.

John woke each morning haunted by those eyes, moped about the flat not daring to disturb Sherlock's possessions, and fighting a violent battle with sleep at night.

The years passed slowly, the time only lengthened by the exhaustion of the constant onslaught of tears which could be triggered by the smallest of things.

3 years later and sometimes the triggers still get to him.

He walks to Sherlock's desk, looking for a pen, careful to avoid Sherlock's things. He reaches over a stack of books grabs a pen but is startled by a cobweb he mistakes for a spider. He jumps and knocks the stack of books to the floor. The topmost book falls and lands open to a page which was clearly agonized over.

His journal.

John hadn't even known Sherlock to keep a journal but, apparently he did.

He reaches down and picks it up, careful not to disturb the state of the pages. The entry on this page is short and is written in ink. It reads:

_How can the state of one's life be altered so drastically in such a short period of time?_

That's all it says, John feels his breath get caught in his throat.

He glances around the page and spots a smudged ink thumbprint and without realizing rubs his thumb over it. The closeness, knowing Sherlock had touched that exact spot awakens something that had long lay dormant in John.

 

His knees begin to give out and he crumbles to the floor unable to cry. Heaving breaths, and muffled sobs, gain the attention of Mrs. Hudson who is making dinner downstairs.

She runs up the stairs of the flat but is startled to find the door to the flat closed. Instead of finding John, she discovered a frazzled looking Sherlock seated on the stairs coming to pieces in front of her. Sherlock sits folded over on himself, crying openly, his bleary, tear-filled eyes staring down at a small handheld monitor. Mrs. Hudson takes it from him since he is clearly in no state to fight her. She discovers the image is one of John knelt on the floor, clutching a book to his chest, his eyes closed in what looks like a silent prayer. She hands the monitor back to Sherlock and quickly ushers him downstairs.

Mrs. Hudson cleans Sherlock up and manages to keep herself together, for the most part, for the sake of the sanity of the both.

Mrs. Hudson clears her throat and in a voice rough from restrained emotions says, "Explain, and do so quickly."

Sherlock manages to choke back tears long enough to answer in a chain of rapid fire sentences broken up by the occasional sob.  
"Moriarty was out to kill everyone, you, Lestrade-... John-... i had to die to save you-... i couldn't handle the thought of him-.... all of you dead-... i couldn't-.... so i had to die-... i have eliminated his web-.. all of them are dead-... i recently moved back to London to get back into the swing of things but under another identity-... Problem is-.. John-.. I couldn't let him alone-... curiosity got the best of me-.. reactivated the surveillance cameras-... watched him to see how he was-... tonight was the worst I'd witnessed-... W-...What have I done?!" At that, Sherlock falls apart again, Mrs. Hudson's comforting doesn't help.

Just then the flat door opens and John yells down, "Mrs. Hudson, Are you quite alright?! You sound-.. em-... a bit distraught.. Do you need me to come down?" Sherlock muffles himself and Mrs. Hudson calls out, "I'm alright dear just watching a soap" John isn't convinced and Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson hear him slowly limp down the stairs. Sherlock jumps up and glances around for a place to hide. When he realizes there is no way of disappearing he composes himself as much as possible, and waits for the inevitable confrontation.

To Be Continued.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of previous work!
> 
> Feel free to comment as you please!
> 
> Some revisions completed: Jan. 16th, 2013
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful readers for pointing out some wonky grammatical mistakes! :)  
> It's greatly appreciated!!!

Sherlock listens intently to the 'thud', 'thump', 'thud', 'thump', of John making his way down the stairs and across the hall to Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen. He memorizes the rhythm and how it seems to meld with his pounding heartbeat. He counts the seconds until John appears in the doorway. The short period of waiting seems almost longer than the years he spent alone.

John calls out again as he begins to round the corner, “Mrs. Hudson, are y-… “ John’s face scrunches a bit as he realizes who stands in front of him.

Sherlock reaches out choking back another sob as he sees what his death has done to John.

John stands in front of him leaning heavily on his cane, his free hand‘s tremor much worse than when they first met. John looks ragged, dark circles under his eyes, wrinkles and laugh lines one put to good use have grown deeper and more defined. John’s complexion is of one who is malnourished, which is emphasized by the way his jumper hangs off him as though he were a child wearing a sweater 2 sizes too large. Sherlock’s hands shake as he slips his hands into his coat.

Mrs. Hudson shifts a bit, unsure of how John will react. She walks over to John and ushers him to the table, “You better sit down dear…” John thumps down into one of the chairs pulled up next to the table and pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head a bit. “Mrs. Hudson, I wonder if you could make me something to eat and maybe a bit of tea, I’m not feeling well…” Mrs. Hudson shakes her head and Sherlock walks over and sits across from John.

Sherlock opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by Mrs. Hudson, “Sherlock, dear, do you want something as well?” John’s eyes widen as Mrs. Hudson acknowledges the man seated across from him. John looks to Mrs. Hudson then back to Sherlock then hurriedly blurts out, “W-.. Wait.. He’s really… here…?” Sherlock can barely keep himself composed at this and he reaches out to grab John’s hand.

John jumps up toppling the chair and forgetting his limp backs into the corner of the room, his chest heaving, “Don’t YOU fucking touch me!” Mrs. Hudson drops the tea to the counter and hurries over to John, “John, dear, he is here, and has a bit of explaining to do…” Mrs. Hudson pats his hand, “Sherlock, now may be a good time to explain to John…”

Sherlock exhales, “John, please sit so I can talk without you looking like a scared animal..” John remains in the corner, trembling, “I think I’m fine here, thanks, talk…” Sherlock shakes his head a bit then begins, “Moriarty had assassins set up to kill Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, YOU… The only way to call them off was for me to… die… He had me trapped on the roof my only way down was to jump… I wish I could have told you… But I couldn’t bear the thought of you… dead..” Sherlock’s voice breaks a bit on the last word, his eyes welling up.

John stands pressed into the corner, absorbing what he has just heard, “I-… You left me-... for three years… alone… I thought-.. you were dead…” John begins wringing his hands not knowing what to think, or what to do or say. Sherlock stands abruptly, crossing the room in 4 strides and stands in front of John, again reaching for his hand, “John, I-.. am more sorry than you know…” John pulls away, tears forming in his eyes, “No, no, NO! You cannot just presume I am going to be okay, I do not care how gallant you think what you did-… NO just STOP I cannot deal with this-…” John pushes Sherlock away and quickly ascends the stairs to the flat, two at a time, and slams the door behind him.

Once inside, John falls apart.

For the first time in a very long time John falls to pieces over his dead flat mate, who is now alive, and never was dead.

John cannot begin to wrap his head around what has happened. He has deteriorated to a state very much unlike him, over a man who wasn’t even dead. He let himself go.

John curls up, his knees pressed to his chest, sobs racking is body. Sherlock quietly opens the door then quickly shuts it behind him and strolls over to John.

John can barely take a breath without his fragile frame being shaken with another set of loud cries.

Sherlock sits on the floor next to John and crosses his legs over each other. Sherlock bites his lip, and chews on it nervously, “John, I’m so very so-…”

At that moment John backhands Sherlock. Sherlock recoils and holds his hands to his lip which is bleeding from the contact of John’s hand pushing his teeth through it a bit. Sherlock pulls his hands away, his eyes tearing a bit. John turns to see Sherlock’s bright eyes shiny with unshed tears. The pale skin above his pronounced lips spattered with a bit of blood send John into another fit of heaving sobs. It brings him back to that day, John reaches out to Sherlock, “I-.. can’t-.. breathe-… I can’t-.. breathe” Sherlock grabs John and pulls him onto his lap and holds him tight, “Shhh, I’m here, deep breaths… Slowly.. That’s it..”  
John’s breaths gradually slow as he calms down. Sherlock continues to press John into his chest then he leans down and presses a tender kiss to the top of John’s head. John turns a bit looking up, but not pulling out of the embrace. Sherlock meets his gaze and cocks an eyebrow and shrugs a bit.

A smile slowly spreads across John’s face; his first real smile in three long years. The sight is enough to break Sherlock.

Sherlock’s breath gets caught in his throat and the tears come, along with a beaming smile.

John reaches up and wipes his thumb across Sherlock’s cheek, “Look at this, I’ve got my Sherlock back…” Sherlock’s chest shudders as he whispers hoarsely, “… and I’ve got my John..”

 

To be continued!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation!!
> 
> Sorry for the delay!   
> I have been on a camping trip with limited internet but here it is!!!!

Over the next few weeks, John and Sherlock seemed to meld back to how they were before Sherlock left; John makes the tea, Sherlock makes a mess and so on. 

However, Sherlock can tell there is a topic being left un-discussed, which is becoming a strain on their friendship.

The intimacy that they shared immediately following his return was not just a whim. It meant something to Sherlock, it changed him, and it must have done the same to John. 

This caused Sherlock to start watching for a sign, something that would tell him John’s feelings were the same as his own. Sherlock tries subtlety. 

Sometimes, when John thinks Sherlock is preoccupied with an experiment or a case Sherlock is watching him, observing, gauging his behaviors. John always catches his gaze and shakes his head, gives a soft chuckle, and continues with his business. John knows Sherlock has some obscure experiment going on in his head and apparently he is the subject of such.

For example, last week John made Sherlock some tea. He walked over and as he placed it on the table, Sherlock reached for it and their fingers grazed each other. 

Sherlock shrugged it off but he watched John out of the corner of his eye and what he witnessed caught him entirely off guard.

John pulled back a bit at the contact then, flushed and scurried off to the kitchen to prepare his own tea. 

Sherlock had never, in his entire time living with John, known him to blush. This was interesting, very interesting indeed.

This spurned a series of experiments later to be documented by John as the ‘Sherlock SEVERELY Invading My Privacy for Far TOO Long and Not Taking NO for an Answer” experiment.

It all began approximately 3 weeks after Sherlock returned to 221B.

Sherlock sneaks out of his room peering around each corner to make sure John is nowhere to be found. He slips by John’s room confirming he is still fast asleep and into the bathroom. He proceeds to rub his eyes vigorously causing them to become bloodshot. He tiptoes into the kitchen and sighs as he grabs an onion out of the refrigerator (said onion was placed precariously close to a bag of severed fingers. He quickly cuts the onion in half breathing in the vapors it gives off causing his eyes to water profusely. He then walks in to the living room, his hair mussed from sleep and his robe wrapped tightly around him. He walks over to the couch and flops down dramatically throwing one arm over his face and the other falls with a loud ‘thud’ to the floor. 

Sherlock begins to groan dramatically as though he were some sort of injured animal. He continues this until he hears the stirrings of John from his bedroom. 

John walks in, gives Sherlock a quick onceover and asks, “What could possibly be the matter? You clearly wanted my attention, what is it?” John grumbles a bit as Sherlock pulls back his arm to reveal bloodshot eyes, Sherlock whines a bit, “Jooohnnn… Siiiiiick…” Sherlock fakes a couple very convincing non-productive coughs.

John rolls his eyes and stamps over to Sherlock's side. John presses the back of his had to Sherlock's head, no fever, but he certainly knows something is up, "Fine, You are sick, what am I supposed to do, looks like a virus to me..." Sherlock groans, "Joooohnnnnn... soouuuuuup" Sherlock frowns and pleads with wide, bloodshot eyes.

John smirks a bit, then wanders off and begins making Sherlock’s soup. 

A while later John returns with soup in hand, only to discover Sherlock had wandered off, collected about every blanket in the flat, and made a large blanket nest on the couch. John raises an eyebrow, pushes some blankets over and takes a seat at the end of the couch by Sherlock’s feet, “Here is your soup, careful, it’s hot” John scowls a bit as Sherlock starts scarfing down the soup and then whines when he burns his tongue, “Told you…” 

Sherlock knows he has to actually eat the soup after John went to such efforts to make it, “Thanks… It’s delicious.” It really was quite good; he polishes off the bowl and then feigns a shiver, “John, Cold… “

John frowns, beginning to worry and presses his hand to Sherlock’s head a second time, still no fever, “Sherlock, I’m not sure what you want me to do, you don’t have a fever….”

Sherlock gives John a small smile; John obviously didn’t detect the hint of mischief. Sherlock raised his arms and gestured for John to come over and join him on the couch. 

John’s heart skipped when he saw Sherlock’s face, and realized his request. He went through every possible alternate meaning of Sherlock’s gesture, “You want me… over there… with you?” 

Sherlock nods in a matter of fact manner, slides forward slightly, and un-wraps his shroud of blankets.   
John knows by the heat rising in his fact that he is probably a bright shade of red

Sherlock smiles a bit as he sees John flush.

John pinches the bridge of his nose and paces a bit, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, people will talk…”

Sherlock grins, “Who but us will know?”

John swallows hard, straightens out his jumper, and shrugs, walking across the room. He kicks off his shoes and slides in behind Sherlock maneuvering himself to comfortable position. John hears Sherlock grumble a bit and squirm next to him, “What now you prat?!” 

Sherlock smiles then turns to look at John, “You’re sitting incorrectly… I’m not warm… face this way…”

John’s eyes widen as he realizes Sherlock wants to lie between his legs, his back pressed against John’s chest. John breathing increases and his mouth gets dry.

Sherlock can see John’s pupils dilate as he corrects him. He sees John try to subtly lick his lips to rehydrate his parched mouth. He can now efficiently deduce EXACTLY how John feels about him.

John nervously shifts his leg so it lies against Sherlock’s. As he does this, Sherlock leans back and pulls the blanket up to his neck, partially covering John and leans into John’s chest.

Sherlock pressed himself snuggly against John and listens to the sound of John’s breathing. He has missed this, John, more than John could ever know. He hums a bit, content to lie where he is for a very long while. 

John breathes deep, attempting to keep his heart rate slow, knowing quite well that he is failing. When he looks down, and sees Sherlock snoring quietly, presses into his chest, his breath catches in his throat. Even now, weeks later, he still finds it hard to believe that Sherlock is really here. His throat tightens as he fights tears. 

In that moment, Sherlock stirs, “I’ve missed you, so much…”

John loses control for a brief moment and a few tears fall as pulls Sherlock closer, inhaling the scent of him, “And I you, more than you know….” 

To Be Continued!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation!
> 
> Please Comment and Critique! 
> 
> Enjoy!

John awakes a few hours later to a tingling pain in his leg due to lack of circulation. John shifts and bends to whisper into Sherlock’s ear, “Hey, can I bring you to bed? My leg is, well, asleep.” Sherlock’s snores continue, “Sherlock, please, my bum may be asleep as well, this is really quite uncomfortable…” John grins, nudging Sherlock in the ribs. Sherlock remains asleep and John suddenly gets a wicked idea.

Spurned by being overtired from a very un-restful few hours’ sleep cramped on the couch, John wonders what Sherlock brain retains from things heard while sleeping. Bending close to Sherlock’s ear again John whispers, “If you don’t wake up right now and get off my leg, I will remove you by force, then I will beat you, and you will like it…” John has to try hard to suppress a chuckle as Sherlock doesn’t move and remains fast asleep. John smirks, “You have lovely lips and I have always admired your fit body, especially when you walk the flat in your robe… You know I can tell you aren’t wearing a thing underneath, right?” John chuckles quietly.

Suddenly Sherlock shifts and mumbles, “I figured you knew… You never complained… figured… you didn’t mind it…”   
John snorts a bit, Sherlock Holmes talks in his sleep! Then, as if it couldn’t get worse, John has to bite back a laugh as Sherlock rolls over pressing his face into John’s stomach and begins not only snoring more loudly due to the restriction of breath, but also softly pawing at John’s shirt. John whispers again between bouts of barely suppressed laughter, “Sherlock…. Please… for the… love of all that… is holy... get off… I’m going… to die…”John snorts loudly and Sherlock nearly jumps out of his skin.

Sherlock starts at the noise and rolls quickly away landing with a loud thud on the floor.

John begins laughing in earnest at the disoriented and frankly disturbed look on Sherlock’s face as he pops out from under the pile of blankets which he had managed to pull on top of him as he fell.

Sherlock looks around and seeing John in hysterics spurns his own deep, throaty laughter as well, “What, may I ask, is going on?”  
John calms himself and wipes the tears from his eyes, “My leg was asleep, and I couldn’t get you to move. I said some things to see what you would do.. Do you know you sleep talk?... Then I began to laugh and you fell onto the floor… and your face!” John falls into a fit of laughter again.

Sherlock’s eyes widen, “What, pray tell, did I say whilst asleep?” 

John can hardly breathe, “No worries… It really… wasn’t that… bad…”

Sherlock’s expression changes in that moment, “I would believe you, if I wasn’t awake when I said it…”

John’s eyes widen and he abruptly stops laughing, “You were… awake?!”

Sherlock works his way out of the blankets, and kneels near John’s feet, “I wasn’t sick either…”

John scowls, “Why would you lie about being sick?”

Sherlock chuckles softly, and then reddens a bit, “I-… uhm… wanted to see if you would-… take care of me…”

John’s expression softens when he hears Sherlock’s motivation, “You are… too much…” John smiles, and finds himself unable to look Sherlock in the eye, while making small circles on the arm of the chair with his fingers.

Sherlock beams at the sight of John bashful and unsure, “I’m awfully tired, I may head to bed, good night, John.”

John frowns as Sherlock stands grabs some blankets and stalks off to his room. 

Almost as though Sherlock could sense John’s unhappiness, he turns on his heel and says in a matter of fact tone, “You could always join me…” 

John almost jumps to answering with an excited ‘yes’ but pauses and answers with a solemn ‘no’ instead.

Sherlock frowns a bit, confused by the denial and bids John good night a second time and heads into his bedroom. 

John takes a deep breath, knowing full well he is not yet ready to admit the extent of his feelings towards Sherlock. He knows if they share a bed those details will have to come to light.

Sherlock had grown accustom over the time he had known John to his occasional flashbacks or nightmares from his PTSD. However, Sherlock is taken entirely surprised when he is abruptly woken around 4am by the loud, frantic screams of John from down the hall. 

He leaps out of his bed and bounds down the hallway, concerned by the desperate calls of ‘help’ from John’s room. Sherlock barges in to find John pressed into the far corner cowering from some unseen presence, gun in hand.

John shouts to the air, “Stay away from me you bastard! No! Leave him out of this! Let us be!!!” 

Sherlock observes silently, unsure how to resolve the situation. Sherlock’s stomach tightens knowing some specter is haunting John’s dreams and he cannot even begin to fathom who.

John is shaking violently waving his pistol about trying to fight off some force unknown, “Please no, just leave him alone, let him go, take me instead.”

Sherlock swallows hard scared for John and then calls across the room to him, “John, John please, if you can hear me, put your gun down.” 

John cowers whimpering in the corner, rocking, his knees pressed to his chest, his gun pointed in front of him, “Go away, go away… go away.. GO AWAY”

At that, John pulls the trigger and breaks down into heaving sobs. 

Sherlock lets out a pained yelp as the bullet tears through his flesh leaving the wall speckled with blood and his sleeve torn and bloodied where it grazed his flesh. Sherlock gives himself a quick exam, just a flesh wound, and crosses to John who is now curled on himself his gun pressed to his neck. 

John whimpers, the cold metal muzzle of the gun pressed against his throat, “I cannot live without him, and because of you-… I have no choice…” John presses his finger against the trigger…

To Be Continued...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation!
> 
> CLIFFHANGER
> 
> sorry!! :D
> 
> please comment and critique
> 
> and SHARE!!!

At that moment Sherlock’s body slams into John’s. His fingers wind around tightly around Johns hand and he swiftly pulls the gun away from John’s neck as the trigger is squeezed the bullet lodging itself firmly in the wall, “Damn it, John, NO.” Sherlock pins John against the corner of the wall and pries the pistol out of John’s quaking hand.  
John dissolves into sobs which shake his entire body, “Sh-… Sherlock… I’m s-… so sorry…”

Sherlock pulls John onto his lap and presses him close to his chest, “Shhhh, John… I’m fine… Breathe…”

John’s chest heaves, constricted, he can barely control his breaths.

Sherlock continues to whisper into John’s ear, “John please… calm down… you are hyperventilating… you are going to pass out if you don’t control your breathing…”

Beads of sweat form on his already clammy for head, his vision tunnels, blackening before his eyes. He takes a few more choked breaths before the blackness overcomes him and he falls unconscious in Sherlock’s arms.

Sherlock reaches down to check John’s pulse, elevated but otherwise fine, then hoists John up by the arms. Sherlock cringes as the wound on his arm begins to bleed again from the movement and a sharp pain shoots through his arm. He ignores the pain and drags John back to the bed, laying him down gently, then checks his pupils to discover John is fast asleep, “Damn it, John…” Sherlock wanders off to the bathroom, dresses his wound to staunch the bleeding until it can be stitched and returns to the room with a bowl of warm water and a cloth.

Sherlock places the bowl on the night stand and sits on the edge of the bed next to John checking his pulse and breathing again. Sherlock then stands and begins to undress John, careful not to wake him. Sherlock wipes the sweat from John’s brow and continues to clean his body. Sherlock grabs a pair of his own pajama pants and carefully puts them on John then pulls the duvet over him and up to his chin.

Sherlock quickly changes out of his clothes and slips on pajamas as well. Then he slips in behind John pulling him close to his own body. Sherlock quickly drifts off to sleep from pure exhaustion of the events of the evening.

John wakes early the next morning too hot, he looks around to discover a few interesting things. First, his clothing he fell asleep in are laying in his hamper; second, he is wearing Sherlock’s pajamas; third, he is lying next to Sherlock; fourth, and most importantly, Sherlock is bleeding.

John quickly jumps up and shakes Sherlock awake, “You git! You’re bleeding, get up now!”

Sherlock, groggy from lack of sleep and blood loss sits up and quickly becomes woozy and has to lie back down, “I don’t feel well, John”

John looks at the bed to try and determine how much blood Sherlock lost. When John realizes it wasn't much he runs to get his kit for the surgery and a tall glass of water. John makes Sherlock drink some water, “I have to stitch your arm up but I don’t have any pain meds so, it’s either hospital or pain, you decide…”

Sherlock takes a couple gulps of water, starting to feel a little better, “I bloody hate the hospital, pain it is…”

John wanders off into the bathroom and fetches a clean washcloth, “Here, you are going to need to bite down on this…” John snaps on some gloves and prepares his equipment.  
Sherlock shrugs, places the cloth in his mouth, and lies back on the bed and crumples the sheets in his hands, anxious for John to begin.

John, leans against the bed and pulls the bandages off Sherlock’s arm and quickly sterilizes the wound, causing Sherlock to cringe, “Ready?”

Sherlock nods and feels the pinch and sting of John feeding the thread through his skin, stitching the wound and staunching the bleeding. Sherlock bites down hard on the cloth and moans in pain.

John continues and attempts as clean a stitch as possible with condition of the wound and the writhing of Sherlock.

Sherlock’s eyes begin to tear and his chest tightens as he holds back a pained noise.

John quickly finishes up and cleans the wound again and then bandages Sherlock’s arm, “You okay? What happened last night if you don’t mind my asking?”

Sherlock grimaces and removes the cloth from his mouth, “John, you may want to take a seat…”

John sits on the edge of the bed and Sherlock begins to tell John exactly what happened the night before. About 20 minutes later John sits curled on himself staring at the floor, “Sherlock… I am so… very sorry… “

Sherlock shakes his head and moves to sit next to John, “It is nothing, my arm is fine now, I’m more concerned for you… Do you remember anything?”

John chews on his lip, “I-… I do… all of it… Now that you told me what happened, the dream makes sense… It all came back…” John rubs his face and pinches the bridge of his nose, “It was him Sherlock… the dream was about Moriarty…” John continued, “He was threatening your life and I thought I could save you…” John’s voice broke, “I-… watched you jump… again… saw you hit the ground… then he came after me…”

Sherlock stares down at his feet and swallows hard, “John, he’s gone… dead... he isn't coming back…”

John gives Sherlock a small smile, “I know,” his smile falls and suddenly tears pool in his eyes, “I-… h-... hurt you…”

Sherlock looks up, to see John coming undone in front of him for the second time in a week. He leans over and lifts John’s head, “I am okay, I am just worried for you…” John smiles as a few tears make streaks down his face. At that, something tugs within Sherlock and he realizes his heart is hammering in his chest and he is barely inches from John. Sherlock leans in toward John and strokes his thumb across John’s jaw causing him to close his eyes. Sherlock takes the opportunity to pull John closer and as the gap between them closes his heart is swelling in his chest. Suddenly John’s eyes fly open and he pushes Sherlock away slightly.

John shakes his head a bit, “Sherlock, don’t… Not because you pity me… I couldn't handle that…”

Just as Sherlock goes to answer, his phone goes off in his pocket and glances down to discover he has a message from Mycroft

 

**We need to talk, NOW. He’s back. –Mycroft**


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> continuation!
> 
> Thank you all!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see note at the end for a little surprise!!!!

Sherlock jumps up and leaves the room to call Mycroft

John sits back on the bed looking dejected. He shrugs off the sudden leave of absence and walks to the kitchen to make some tea. John walks in to find Sherlock at the counter his fingers steepled beneath his chin staring at the wall, “Sherlock? Everything alright?”

Sherlock quickly shakes off the news from his brother to put on a façade of confidence, “All is well, Mycroft wanted me on a case, I told him to bugger off.” Sherlock grins and nods toward the tea, “Made some already, figured you would want-….” Sherlock zones out again staring into the distance.

John shrugs and makes up 2 cups of tea placing one in front of Sherlock. He wanders into the living room and takes a seat in his chair.

Sherlock fidgets, unable to concentrate, “CAN’T THINK!” Sherlock jumps up and begins to pace the flat.

John follows him with his eyes, wondering what all this nonsense is about, Sherlock hasn't done this since he before he came back and even then, never like this. Last time he acted this way was when… “He’s back isn't he? Or at least Mycroft thinks he might be…” John shudders at the thought.

Sherlock feels his stomach clench, “Please John, quiet..” Sherlock continues to pace then stops in the center of the room, “Where is it? Bloody hell, John! Where did you move it?!”  
John looks at Sherlock with a puzzled look, “Where is what? I haven’t moved anything from where it was before… You know..” John shrugs and glances around trying to identify what Sherlock is searching for.

Suddenly Sherlock bolts forward and grabs his violin, blows off the dust, quickly tunes it, rosins his bow and begins to play a jaunting tune while walking about the flat.  
John sits back, goose bumps rising on his arms. This is the first Sherlock has played violin in 3 years. John closes his eyes as Sherlock transitions into a mellow piece, one which makes John forget for a moment that his life is at risk. Sherlock abruptly stops playing and flops onto the couch, his violin cradled in his arms. John looks over and realizes Sherlock probably isn't going anywhere anytime soon.

John stands, grabs his coat, and calls to Sherlock, “Going to get some take-away…” John heads out the door, Sherlock not even taking notice.

3 hours later, Sherlock looks about the flat, “John, can I borrow your phone?” Sherlock sits up and glances around, “John?... JOHN?!” Sherlock’s heart begins to race and he jumps up to search for his phone. After a frantic few minutes he finds it buried under some papers. He sends a quick text to John:

 

**John. Come home if convenient. If inconvenient, come home anyway. SH**

 

-No response-

 

**John, Where are you? SH**

-No response-

 

**John, please answer my texts SH**

 

-No response-

 

**I’m worried. Please, answer…SH**

 

-No response-

 

Sherlock’s heart is in his throat and he fears the worst. He dials Mycroft, and informs him that John is missing, then slams his phone shut and begins to pace the flat.

Sherlock dials John, his phone rings twice and goes to voice mail. Sherlock can feel bile rising in his throat, “damn it, John…. Answer…”

Sherlock dials again, this time the phone rings 4 times and then Sherlock hears a loud click and some rustling at the end of the line, a voice in a rough whisper comes over the line, “Sh-… Sherlock?”

Sherlock intakes a sharp breath, fumbling with his phone, “John? Is it you?”

John sighs a bit, “It is, I’m hiding… Someone came after me… Didn't get a good look at who…”

Sherlock runs his fingers through his hair, “Where are you John?”

John lowers his voice, “I think about 2 alleys away from the take-away… I hid and they ran by, but I don’t know if they are coming back… I was just laying low for a bit…”  
Soon after Sherlock hangs up he grabs his coat and bolts out of the flat. Sherlock runs as fast as his legs will carry him until he reaches the take-away. Sherlock peers round the corner of each alley, searching for John. Sherlock’s heart pounds in his chest, fearful he will arrive after the people coming after John have returned.

About 2 blocks from the take-away, like John said, Sherlock discovers John crouched behind a trash bin.

John jumps out and punches Sherlock hard across the cheek, “BLOODY HELL SHERLOCK! Sorry…” A small gash on his face trickles a small amount of blood, “I’m fine, John, Are you alright?”

John smiles, “I’m fine now…” At that John feels something rise up in him, “Sherlock…” John sighs a bit and grabs Sherlock by the lapels of his coat and pulls him close pressing his lips firmly against Sherlock’s.

Sherlock’s eyes widen in response his breath quickening as John pulls away. “J-… John?!”

John beams, “I was worried I wouldn’t get the chance to do that.” John wraps his arms around the taller man’s neck and pulls him into a tight hug.

Sherlock breaks into a wide smile, “What… was that?”

John laughs at Sherlock’s face, “A kiss? Some consulting detective you are…”

Suddenly, Sherlock’s phone goes off, it’s a text from Mycroft:

 

**I was misinformed, it was one of his men, and it has been taken care of. All is well. –Mycroft**

 

**Also, may want to stay out of the view of my cameras if you plan to do THAT again. People will talk. –Mycroft**

 

Sherlock rolls his eyes and barks out a deep laugh, “Bloody idiots…” Sherlock stares into the camera at the end of the alley and then pulls John against him and pushes his chin up with his finger and kisses him sweetly, his lips parting slightly, he can feel the air leave John’s lungs as he exhales from the start of being kissed. John lets out a low laugh and reciprocates. “You, Sherlock Holmes, are a git.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will be adding fanart being done by a friend of mine to past chapters! feel free to re-read or look through and please share!!! :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation!
> 
> please comment, critique, etc!

Over the months since Sherlock’s return to 221B, the two have grown much closer.

Due to John’s violent bouts of PTSD, Sherlock insisted on their sharing a bed together with the hopes that good sleep will help John.

Over time, John’s PTSD improves but he notices often throughout the night he wakes up alone.

One late February evening John again awakes alone but this time notices a soft light seeping under the door. He grabs his robe and sneaks out to the living room where he finds Sherlock bent over his desk scribbling in his journal.

Sherlock’s head pops up, “John, did I wake you?”

John shuffles into the room, “No, I just woke up because I was a tad cold and I saw a light coming from beneath the door…”

Sherlock frowns, “Sorry, I just couldn’t sle-…”

John interrupts him,”… actually I wake almost every night with you missing… What’s going on?”

Sherlock’s face falls, “John I… I don’t know if I can talk about it…” Sherlock shifts uncomfortably and fiddles with the pen in his hand.

John shrugs, “Fine, tea? There is no way I am getting back to sleep at this point.”

Sherlock bites his lip, his chest tightening with anxiety, “Uhm… John? When you are done with the tea… I…. We… Should talk…”

John nods and busies himself with the tea, making note that Sherlock resumes scratching away at his journal.

Minutes late John sits by the fireplace, warming himself by the smoldering coals after setting the cups on the table. John stares into the embers waiting for Sherlock to break the silence and tell him exactly what is going on. John shivers a bit and tucks his feet up next to him off the floor.

He finally hears Sherlock close his journal and walk over. The couch depresses slightly as Sherlock takes a seat next to John.

John turns his head slightly and raises a brow, “So? Talk… clearly something is bothering you…”

Sherlock exhales loudly, grumbles a bit and settles in next to John, “Here, read… it’s easier… for me…” Sherlock hand his journal to John.

John’s eyes widen, “Sherlock, are you sure?” Sherlock nods and waves John off, sipping his tea. John opens the journal to the page he discovered so many months ago. His heart skips a beat.

Sherlock points to the journal but will not look at John, “After that entry…”

John flips the page and begins to read.

_Although I know we are safe I cannot help but feel doubt in my mind. No thanks to Mycroft, the scare a while back did not help. John’s therapist suggests he blog so, I figure my writing is close enough. Listing is easier:_

_I was abducted on multiple occasions_

_I was beaten_

_I was tortured mercilessly_

_I have scars_

_Mental and physical_

_It has changed me_

John begins to close the journal. Sherlock stops him; his voice rough with emotion pent up from being suppressed time and time again, “There is more, please…”

John sighs and reopens the journal and resumes reading on the next page.

 

_I am afraid to show John my scars. I am afraid he will either think it too strange, or he will pity me, or it will remind him of what happened and it will bother him too much. He will leave. I will be alone. I cannot bear being alone again._

_I cannot tell John what it was like to be alone for 3 years. I am sure he knows but, he had Harry, Mrs. Hudson, or Lestrade. I had no one. I have never been more afraid in my life._

_John kissed me. Unsure how I feel. I kissed him back._

_John is beautiful when he is sleeping peacefully. I often find him reaching out to me in his sleep. I feel bad leaving him alone but I was not blessed with being able to cry quietly. I do not want to admit I cry at night remembering those years._

John looks up at Sherlock who is staring up at the mantle, he continues.

 

_I think John has noticed my absences; yet he does not ask why I leave in the middle of the night. It confuses me._

 

_John tolerates so much. I do not understand why._

 

_I have long considered myself, in simplest terms, asexual. I think I love John. He is my best friend. He has never changed his opinions of me, even with all the peculiar habits I have. I definitely love John H. Watson._

 

John begins to laugh, which causes Sherlock to whip around. You can see the fire reflecting off his brilliantly blue eyes.

Sherlock chokes on his words, “You think… it’s funny?!” Tears begin to form in his eyes. Defeated, he begins to pull away from John and push off the couch.

John stifles his laughter and grabs Sherlock’s slim wrist, “No you dolt! I laughed because I love you too… Have for a while…”

Sherlock sniffs a bit, “Blood stupid body, acting of its own accord.” John rolls his eyes, “C’mere…” John pulls Sherlock close and wipes at the tears streaking his pronounced cheekbones. John then takes his face in his hands and plants a kiss on Sherlock’s nose, “Show me, please?”

Sherlock grimaces and nods, then slowly begins to undress.

Moments later Sherlock stands shivering in front of John in nothing but his fitted, black pants.

John scans Sherlock’s torso, his breath coming more quickly, “T-…turn please?” Sherlock nods and turns. John gasps as the sight before him takes his breath away.

Sherlock’s pale flesh is mottled with mounds and puckers of tender, pink, scar tissue, created in part, from hours of torture. As he turns John sees scars resembling lash marks striping the other man’s back.

John feels a lump forming in his throat, he mutters, “W-Who did this to you? What did they…” John pauses, steadying his voice which is threatening to break.

Sherlock waits for John to compose himself, “Not sure exactly who, I was blindfolded and bound most times, out of revenge I assume. I had gone after them and they retaliated. They were very dedicated, and very angry.” Sherlock grabs his robe and pulls it tight around him, “Hot pokers, knives, fire, water, fists, pliers, about any implement you can think of was utilized…”

John cringes at the imagery, “I didn’t know… Sherlock, I’m so very sorry…”

Sherlock smiles a bit, “It’s okay. I’m just a little broken…”

John grins back at him, “Wonder if I can fix it?” At that, John pulls Sherlock onto the couch next to him and kisses his way up Sherlock’s arm. Then opens Sherlock’s robe slightly and places a soft kiss on a much raised scar right on his collarbone, “I’m not going to run away, Sherlock. I am far too attached.”

Sherlock bites his lip making a soft noise in his throat at the tingle the kiss on his collarbone sends down his spine, “Bed, John?”

John nods, exhausted, “Bed…”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> continuation... 
> 
> i'm so sorry if you all hate me after this.. xD
> 
> cliffhanger!

Sherlock awakes to find himself tangled among the sheets and John’s limbs, he quickly untangles himself and pulls John flush to his body. John’s chest presses against Sherlock’s. John stirs slightly in his sleep then opens his eyes a fraction and flushes at the sight of Sherlock pressed so close to him, “Sh-.. Sherlock.. what are you-…” 

John is cut off by Sherlock’s enthusiastic kiss. Sherlock’s lips part slightly, his tongue brushing across John’s bottom lip. John’s eyes widen in shock as Sherlock quickly climbs on top of him, straddling John’s hips. Sherlock runs his long fingers through John’s shaggy, morning hair. John chuckles a bit at the shiver it sends through him.

Sherlock runs his hands down John’s chest to the bottom of his tee shirt. John inhales sharply, tensing as the sensation does wondrous and strange things to his body. Sherlock slides the bottom of his shirt up, exposing John’s belly. Sherlock smiles and begins to pull the tee shirt over John’s head. John settles back to the bed his chest bare. The cold rush of air causes him to tense and sends goose bumps down his arms and across his stomach. Sherlock traces the dips and curves of John’s defined muscles with his finger. John makes a soft noise in his throat, his arousal now very apparent to them both. Sherlock leans down and kisses the scar on Johns shoulder causing John tense. Sherlock leans back, grins, and raises his brows at John’s reaction. 

Sherlock quickly slides between John’s legs and leans in to plant kisses down John’s chest. John has other things in mind. As Sherlock leans towards his neck John pulls Sherlock on top of him their hips pressing together. The sudden pressure causes an obviously very aroused Sherlock to emit a low moan. John laughs at the noise as it takes them both by surprise. John begins to kiss Sherlock feverishly. Their hips rut together causing wonderful friction between them. Sherlock pushes away from John abruptly. John looks dejected until Sherlock slides down pulls down John’s pajamas and…

 

John wakes with a start, his breath hitching in his throat. He looks downs and realizes his hand is wrapped around his very hard erection and he has been pleasuring himself in his sleep. He rolls over a bit to discover Sherlock sprawled next to him sleeping soundly. John mumbles to himself, “Like a bloody teenager…” mentally scolding himself for such a display. John quickly sits up and scampers off to the bathroom to take care of business. A few minutes later John returns as quietly as possible to not wake Sherlock, lays back in bed, and pulls the duvet up to his chin. 

Just as John closes his eyes a low trembling laugh comes from the other side of the bed. His eyes widen and panic creeps up within him, “Sherlock?” 

In that moment Sherlock FINALLY loses his composure and falls into a fit of laughter, “Some dream you had, John… Was it good?”

John reddens, realizing Sherlock was awake for a good part of the ordeal, “Uhm… H-… How long were you… awake?”

Sherlock chuckles again, “I was awake from the bit where you starting calling my name out in your sleep…” John, now thoroughly mortified pulls the blanket up further, “I’m sorry… I was asleep… I didn't realize…”

Sherlock rolls over and grins then whispers into John’s ear, “I didn't mind at all…” John feels Sherlock’s hard on pressed against him and smiles, still red from embarrassment.   
John rolls to face Sherlock, “Enjoyed my dream to I see?” Sherlock nods quickly. John reaches between them, into Sherlock’s pants and grabs his cock firmly in his hand, “Well I already took care of myself…” 

The sensation of being out of control takes Sherlock entirely by surprise. Sherlock moans and muffles himself with the pillow then he groans, “John… Ssstop… I’m loud… Ffffu-…”   
John laughs a bit, his eyes widening at Sherlock’s admission, “Good, this is what you get for getting off on my dreams, git…” John continues to pump Sherlock’s arousal causing the other man to moan and roll his hips.

Sherlock bites his lip, drawing blood, in an attempt to quiet his moans, “Johnnn… hell… it’s too early for this… no control.. John.. JOHNNN!” Sherlock feels his belly tighten a sensation of warmth begins to coil there.

John kisses Sherlock, parting his lips and slipping his tongue between. 

Sherlock tenses, beginning to lose control, “Johnn… I can’t… too much…”

John then begins to bite at the expanse of pale flesh between Sherlock’s shoulder and his ear. Sherlock shouts aloud at the sensation the bites send through his body straight to his arousal. John’s teeth graze the spot where his neck and shoulders meet and Sherlock tumbles over the edge. 

Sherlock’s control crumbles as he succumbs to a powerful orgasm, “Fffffuck… Joohnnn…”

As soon as Sherlock finishes, John rolls over cleans off his hand with a tissue and rolls back over to observe his flat mate. 

Sherlock now lays on his back, his eyes wide; his nearly flaccid cock still occasionally twitching. Sherlock, still panting looks over to John, “Well… I wasn't… expecting… THAT…” He begins to laugh and grabs John and pulls him over, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. 

John rolls back to his side, lying flat on his back staring up at the ceiling, beaming. Sherlock slides over a bit so his shoulder brushes John’s. John smiles wider at the touch. 

Sherlock maneuvers his hand so it is against John’s. Then he slowly entwines their fingers so their palms are pressed together. Sherlock smiles, his eyelids beginning to close on their own. Sherlock and John both begin to drift off to sleep, holding tight to the other’s hand, “Sherlock, I lo-…”

 

A loud explosion rocks the flat, smoke and flames everywhere, blinding. 

 

To be continued.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay! 
> 
> I was sick!
> 
>  
> 
> I just finished this and 10 is being worked on as we speak!
> 
> Thank you!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies if this shows up looking REALLY weird... the site is being strange today.

Sherlock rolls on top of John, unable to see through the shroud of smoke blanketing them, “JOHN, JOHN?! ARE YOU OKAY?!” John groans then coughs to clear the smoke from his lungs, “Fine, we need to get out of here, NOW!” Sherlock jumps up and snags his robe off the chair and then quickly hands John’s to him.

They throw on their robes and come barging from the room. They enter the room to find it engulfed in flames, smoke billowing everywhere. Sherlock’s heart is hammering in his chest. He quickly grabs John’s hand and pulls John to the floor with him, “Hold my robe, I won’t lose you…” John taken aback by the finality of what Sherlock said quickly grabs the robe, ignoring his now slightly bruised knees and begins to crawl to the door down to Mrs. Hudson’s room.

Suddenly, a second explosion goes off sending a wave of heat towards them. John jumps on top of Sherlock, shielding him from any shrapnel. A piece of something sharp hurls at them making a gash down John’s side and embedding itself deep in his flesh. John cries out and the scenario sends him reeling into a flashback.

 

_John hides within the home, no more than a shack, one room, and windows blown out long ago. John crouches low beneath one of the windows on the west side of the building a young comrade, Michael Finton, or as John knows him now, just Mick. Mick crouches close to John the peers over the window sill, “Ey cap, looks clear…” John radios to his commanding officer, “Building 2 is clear…” Mick looks out again, their men begin to mobilize. John leans up next to him watching the battalion slowly make their way out and over to building 2. Suddenly, John sees something gleam in the distance; approximately 400yds away. John’s breath catches and he waits, it’s a crack shot, he thinks to himself, no way it could be possible… Suddenly just as the gleam catches his eye a second time and he radios the ‘fall back’ command to the men, shots ring out, “Damnit, Mick!” Three shots are fired before he can manage to successfully locate and kill the sniper. John checks his surroundings, then Mick and him make their way out of the building to the other soldiers crouched in hiding behind a vehicle._

_As soon as they slip behind the truck, more shots ring out, each bullet tearing through the air, looking to rip through flesh. John yells, “DOWN, DOWN, DOWN!” All the men remaining hit the dirt, brandishing their weapons ready for a fight. John feels a tightening in his stomach, an instinct to run, “EVERYONE MOVE! NOW! INTO THE BUILDING!” They all make their way towards the building 10 yards behind them as an anti-tank grenade is thrown. The vehicle explodes sending shrapnel everywhere. A chunk of what may have been side panel armor embeds itself in John’s leg; he shouts but continues to run toward the building, “I’ve been hit!” He glances back and another 3 men, boys, lay injured, or worse, dead on the ground, dangerously close to the flames engulfing the vehicle._

_He throws his med kit down and wraps up the wound shrapnel and all and runs out to tend to the injured. He runs up to the first soldier, a young man, 22, he has a wife and a kid. John refocuses and examines him quickly, small wound from shrapnel, no major arteries damaged, bandage should suffice. John quickly cares for him when he hears someone cry out from the smoke. John squints through tears, his eyes aggravated by the smoke from the burning vehicle. He makes it around the injured to the far side near the rear of the truck where he discovers a man lying on the ground crying out for anyone to help him. John looks him over, “Soldier what’s your…” John chokes back the bile which rises in his throat; it’s Mick. He is so badly burned that he is unrecognizable. Mick cries out again, shaking, he is in shock, “J-… John… I’m going to die.. Am I going to die? I-… I don’t want to… die…” John chokes back tears, coughing on more smoke, “No, you are going to be fine, C’mon…” Moran runs over, “John, get out of there! The trucks gonna blow!”_

_John hoists Mick onto his soldier and runs towards the building. Out of nowhere a bullet tears through his shoulder. He lays Mick on the ground and covers Mick’s body with his own has the truck’s secondary gas tank explodes, “Fuck, I’ve been shot!” Moran runs over and checks John, “You’ll be alright, it’s clean through… Jesus… JOHN MOVE!” Moran pushes John off Mick. Mick is laying there bleeding out from the chest. The bullet which tore through John’s shoulder hit Mick on its way out. Moran yells to John, “Get your kit! He’s bleeding bad!” John jumps up, grimacing as pain rips through him._

_He runs and grabs his kit and switches spots with Moran. John begins to strip off Mick’s gear. The entry wound is rough and bloody from the deformed bullet tearing through his unprotected flesh just above his vest. Blood seeps out of the wound every time Mick’s heart beats, pooling around him._

_John grabs gauze and begins to pack the wound but every time he packs more gauze, more blood oozes through staining everything. The sight will remain engrained in John for the rest of his days._

_Mick groans, “John, I-… I’m… sorry I didn’t… see the sniper…” John, with his left hand still pressed against Mick’s chest reaches to grab Mick’s hand with his own, “It’s okay… I didn’t either… don’t… worry… shh… just breathe…. Stay with me soldier…” John can feel Mick fading. The life leaves him._

_John falls back against the wall his knees pulled up to his heaving chest. Moran radios for help. Soon reinforcements arrive._

_After a hospital stay John is well enough to head back to London for Mick service. He remembers the service well as it was why he remembers Mick as what he was and not Michael. He walks up to Mick’s mother and without thinking says, “I’m so sorry for your loss… Mick-... Michael, sorry, was a wonderful-…” He is interrupted by a choked sob from his mother, “M-…Mick is fine… I used to… Thank you-…for being-… there for my boy…” John embraces her._

_John stays strong until he arrives at his tiny flat later on. He loses composure and weeps for all the men he lost that day, but mostly for Mick._

 

Sherlock grabs John by the shoulders and shakes him, “Damnit John! We need to get out now! FOCUS!” John grabs back onto Sherlock’s robe, trembling, barely able to keep it together.

Sherlock hears a call from downstairs, Mrs. Hudson, screaming for help.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation!
> 
> Thank you for your continued support!

Sherlock trudges quickly down the stairs affectively pulling the shaking John behind him.

They reach Mrs. Hudson’s room barge in and see the ceiling in the kitchen has begun to cave trapping Mrs. Hudson in her now smoke filled room. Sherlock releases John, who remains standing petrified by the door. Sherlock moves quickly about the kitchen, an eye on the ceiling, looking for a way to access Mrs. Hudson’s room, “Hell, John, do you see a way in? MRS. HUDSON! DO YOU SEE ANY WAY OUT?!” Mrs. Hudson’s trembling voice yells back, “Nnnn-…. NO! HELP!”

Suddenly, John runs toward the pile of collapsed ceiling blocking the doorway and begins tearing at it with his hands; the smoldering wood burning him. Sherlock grabs John and pulls him away quickly, “JOHN! ENOUGH!” John pushes Sherlock, “NO! I’m FINE, MOVE!” Sherlock leaps back as John resumes digging at the wood until there is an opening large enough for him to fit through. John crawls through the opening and returns seconds later tightly grasping Mrs. Hudson by the arm.

Sherlock and John pull her through the opening and rush out the front door and into the street. John begins trembling again and collapses to his knees on the street as the fire trucks pull up.

Sherlock quickly checks on Mrs. Hudson and finds she is suffering from minor smoke inhalation. He rushes over to John who is knelt in the street staring at 221B as it burns, “John, you have burns, and OH, YOU’RE BLEEDING…You need to be looked at immediately.”

John looks up at Sherlock his eyes bloodshot from the smoke, streaks of tears break up the coat of ash on John’s face, “I-.. can you… I can’t…”

Sherlock gets the hint and slides his arms under John and deftly lifts him off the ground and over to the nearest ambulance. After a quick exam Sherlock finds out John will need to head to the hospital for stitches and some treatment for his burns.

His stomach churns and clenches.

Sherlock nods, and drags Mrs. Hudson along with him in the back of the ambulance.

As they pull up to St. Bart’s Sherlock feels a wave of nausea wash over him. He looks at John his body still trembling, his face is screwed up in a grimace with his eyes squeezed shut tightly. Sherlock hides his face in his hands, trying to keep it together.

Mrs. Hudson reaches over and pats Sherlock on the knee.

Sherlock takes a deep breath steadies himself and exits the ambulance as John is unloaded and wheeled into the emergency ward.

Sherlock jogs after the gurney, practically tripping over his feet.

Sherlock is told to sit in the waiting room; he does so begrudgingly.

 Sherlock is not one to have nervous habits, he sits, and he waits, his mind reeling. His body still like a statue, unmoving, you can barely see the movement of his chest as he breathes. All he can do is sit and think. John. Is John okay. My John. John. His mind stirs, rewinds and replays the entire thing over and over again. The explosion, fire, smoke, John, Mrs. Hudson, blood, more smoke.

Sherlock is so consumed by the movie playing in his head he doesn’t notice Mrs. Hudson walking out of the ward. She sits beside him and places her hand on his, “Sherlock, dear, they’ve discharged me, said I will be alright with a bit of rest, which we all need, John will be getting out soon, Mycroft is here, said we can stay at one of his safe houses.”

Sherlock continues to stare off into the distance and only starts when he hears Mycroft’s name, “Huh? Mycroft? Sorry, you were saying?”

Mrs. Hudson sighs, “Nothing dear, You can go see John now if y-…”

Sherlock stands quickly and bolts toward reception. The receptionist kindly guides Sherlock to John’s room.

Sherlock walks in guarded, anticipating a horrendous sight. He walks in to see John lying in the bed, hands wrapped in bandages. Sherlock frowns slightly, “Are you alright?”

John smiles, “I’m fine, more cumbersome than anything. Just a bit burned, got a nice gash in my side but I can come home tonight.”

Sherlock grins at this and pulls up a chair next to John’s bed. Sherlock can feel the weight being lifted off him but something still nags in the back of his mind, “John, what happened in there?”

John’s face falls, “Not here, when we get back to the flat we will talk.”

Mycroft peers around the doorway, “Sherlock, John…”

Sherlock’s brows furrow, “Mycroft… any idea what was the cause of the explosion”

Mycroft’s gaze shifts a miniscule amount, only enough that Sherlock would notice, “No, though, we will find out soon enough, I figure Mrs. Hudson talked to you about staying in a safe house?”

Sherlock gives him a questioning look, “She did I believe, possibly, although I don’t see the need for a safe house…”

Mycroft laughs and shakes his head, “Be happy you have somewhere to stay, provided by me of course, you should be thankf-…”

Sherlock cuts him off, “Shut it Mycroft…”

Mycroft chuckles and walks out.

A short while later, John is released and Mrs. Hudson, John, and Sherlock take residence at one of Mycroft’s many secretive safe houses just on the outskirts of London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not making this chapter longer but I have some interesting chapters coming up!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here you go!   
> Thank you!!

Sherlock helps John from the car and all three of them, bandaged, bruised, and exhausted, make their way into the large flat. They all gape as they look around at the extravagancy of the building. Although it’s wonderful, it’s not 221B, but they will cope. Mrs. Hudson smiles, “I figure you boys will want your own rooms so, I will take the room down here.”

Sherlock flushes a bit but hides his face behind John, bending to grab their bags. John grins, “Thank you… We will be headed up, give us a shout if you nee-… Well… you know…”   
Mrs. Hudson nods, grabs her small bag and heads into the beautifully decorated room, closing the door behind her.

Sherlock looks over to John, “Stay here, I will bring the bags up and come back to help you up the st-…”   
John rolls his eyes, “I’m injured, not crippled, go… I will follow you up…”

Sherlock nods and makes his way up the stairs, trying hard as he can to ignore John’s occasional grunts of pain.

Sherlock enters the flat first and wanders about, discovering that conveniently enough, there is only one bedroom. Sherlock laughs, “Well, I hope you don’t mind sharing a room…” 

John reddens a bit, “Not at all…”

Sherlock moves all their things, which isn’t much to the bedroom and returns to the living room to find John standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, “John?”  
John shrugs, “It’s nothing… It’s just not… home…”

Sherlock frowns, “I know… Why don’t you lie down? Or sit… or not stand there…” Sherlock grins at the face John makes. John shakes his head, “I think I may…”   
John wanders off to the bedroom and Sherlock busies himself looking through the fully stocked cabinets. 

A few minutes later, it hits him, Sherlock yawns wide, and stretches, his exhaustion finally hitting him. 

He heads toward the bedroom and stops at the door. He presses his ear against the door and listens to John’s quiet snoring, smiling to himself. Sherlock quietly turns the handle and sneaks quietly into the room kicks off his shoes and slides under the covers next to John. Sherlock stretches out but feels strange. He snuggles close behind John, tucking his knees behind John’s, and then sliding his arm over John’s hip, resting his hand against John’s belly. Sherlock feels his eyes closing and he quickly drifts to sleep.

A few hours later Sherlock wakes up to a dark room, John pressed close to him. He looks about the room, disoriented and spots a clock on the bedside table which reads 5:00am. Sherlock stretches and rolls, pulling his arm from under John. 

Sherlock showers quickly, pulls on his robe and begins making breakfast. 

Sherlock is just putting on the kettle when he hears stirrings from the bedroom. Moments later John comes stumbling into the kitchen, barely awake, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, “Sherlock… I… shower… but… food?” 

Sherlock laughs “Sit down and eat please… Then we will take care of bathing…”

John nods sits at the table and wolfs down the plate of eggs, sausage, and toast with jam. Sherlock places John’s cup of tea in front of his plate and then sits across from John and begins to pick at his own toast, “Once you finish your breakfast we will get you cleaned up, if you don’t mind my helping since you don’t really have the use of your hands. After that, I will re-dress your burns and then I think we needed to talk?” Sherlock smiles a bit.

John nods, “It’s fine, no worries… We will talk..” John continues to eat murmuring to himself, “Hmmm, so good…”   
Sherlock grins, “Glad to see you enjoying breakfast… When you are ready…”

John clears his plate, downs his now cool tea and heads to the bathroom. 

Sherlock follows close behind.

John stands in the bathroom, the blanket discarded at the door, “Uhm.. I may need some help because…” John waves his useless, bandaged hands in front of him.  
Sherlock laughs and walks toward John, “No worries…” 

Sherlock turns on the bath, the hot water filling the tub and the steam sending waves of warmth throughout the room. The sudden warmth causes John to shiver. Sherlock stands and faces John, “Arms over your head…” 

John lifts his arms and Sherlock slips the shirt up over his head and off his arms, careful to avoid jarring his hands too much. Goosebumps spread across John’s skin and his teeth chatter a bit, “Sss’cold…” 

Sherlock quickly helps John out of his pajamas and pants. John flushes standing in front of Sherlock completely naked.  
Sherlock shakes his head, smiles and helps John get into the bath, “Not too hot?”

John makes a soft noise in his throat, “mmm, no… perfect…” John lays back into the hot water, making sure his hands stay far away from the bath. Sherlock sits nearby, allowing John to soak for a bit, “Alright you, sit up…”

John does so, but grumbles loudly, displeased with having to expose his skin to the cool air. Sherlock grabs a rag and begins to bathe John. 

John’s chews at this lip trying hard not to think of Sherlock washing him. Sherlock’s hand slips dangerously close to body parts John would much rather remain dormant and he emits a soft whimper. 

Sherlock’s head pops up, “You okay? I didn’t hurt you… I don’t think...”

John shakes his head, “no… I’m just… uhm… sorry about that…”

Sherlock gives him a questioning look then follows John’s gaze, glancing down, “Ah…” Sherlock laughs quietly, “Interesting…”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> continued!
> 
> tee hee you guys are going to love the next two! :D
> 
> thank you all again!!

Sherlock finishes washing John taking care around the cut on his side and helps him out of the bath, wraps him in a towel, then helps him dress in a warm jumper and a pair of soft, worn, jeans, “Come along, I need to care for your hands.”

John trudges behind Sherlock back to the bathroom. Sherlock seats John on the edge of the tub and unwraps John’s hands. Sherlock examines them, red, slightly blistered, not horribly burned, but still painful. Sherlock cleans them, applies the necessary ointments, and re-bandages them, “All set, go relax in the living room, there is a unreasonably large television in there. Although you aren’t blind, which is who I assume it is designed for; I’m sure you can manage.

John grins, shakes his head and heads to the living room. 

Sherlock can hear him sit, settle in, and switch on the television. Sherlock cleans up the bathroom and walks into the living room and takes a seat next to John on the couch, “So, you okay to talk?”

John mutes the television; of course he is watching some horrid reality show. He turns a bit, making himself comfortable, “Mhm.. Okay, what happened… where to start…” John huffs a bit, thinking, “I had a flashback, the mix of the explosion, the fire, be hit with shrapnel… it brought me back… not much more than that…”

Sherlock nods, “W-… What did you… see? You don’t have to tel-…”

John dismisses him, “It’s a bit lengthy…”

Sherlock nods and John explains the entire flashback in detail to Sherlock, pausing on occasion to gather his thoughts or to calm himself from falling into thinking too much about it. Occasionally his voice breaks when he talks of a fallen comrade. Sherlock sits, listening patiently, unsure how to help or console John.

Sherlock reaches over and places his hand on John’s knee, a gesture learned from Mrs. Hudson. John smiles, “You are too much… You know that?”  
Sherlock’s eyes widen, slightly hurt, “Really?”

John rolls his eyes, “No you git, not… bugger it…” John leans over and kisses Sherlock quickly on the lips.

Sherlock smiles wide, then pauses to think of something to say that won’t come across crass. Sherlock sits for a bit, pondering, “I… am sorry that you had to deal with such a trauma… But I fear, none could have dealt with it better…” The corner of Sherlock’s mouth raises a bit.

John sits quietly, unsure how to respond. Sherlock’s small half-smile falls, “Did I… Was that… bad?”

John shakes his head, silent. 

Sherlock pulls his hand from John’s knee and folds his hands in his lap, not knowing what to do, “Say something? Please…”

John again, shakes his head, still silent. Sherlock begins to fret, “What’s wrong? There is something wrong…”

John shakes his head a third time and finally speaks in a soft, rough whisper, “I… No… nothing is wrong… I just didn’t expect you to… say something like that… Th-… Thank you…” 

John smiles, restraining his emotions which are threatening to bubble over. John looks up at the clock, distracting himself. He notices a few hours have passed and the rumble in his stomach tells him it’s time for lunch.

Before he even has the chance to ask Sherlock for lunch, Sherlock is gone from the couch, in the kitchen making food. John is again rendered speechless. He shakes his head, smiles, and settles himself further into the plush cushions of the couch.

A few minutes Sherlock returns with two plates, both with a large sandwich, a sliced apple, and crisps. John digs in and Sherlock, per usual casually picks at his plate until most of his food is gone. 

Sherlock grabs the plates, and cleans up, “You should nap, John. You look exhausted.” 

John nods, “I am pretty tired…” John stands, walks off to the bedroom and leaves the door ajar behind him. 

Sherlock walks around the room, searching, then he finally realizes, the object he is subconsciously looking for is not there, his violin, “Damn it…” Sherlock pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Mycroft, “I need a new violin as soon as possible… now being preferable.”

Sherlock lights a fire in the hearth and sits nearby to the crackling flames, feeling the warmth wash over him. He stirs a bit when he hears a groan from the bedroom. Sherlock stands quickly and tiptoes into the room to see John uncovered and shivering, Sherlock rolls his eyes and gets an idea. He cocoons John in a thick afghan and lifts him, careful not to jostle him awake. He makes his way slowly to the living room and places John softly onto the couch nest to the warm fire, then pulls the blanket up to John’s chin. 

John sighs a bit in his sleep, and slowly the shivers cease, his soft snoring resumes and Sherlock heads to the bathroom, badly in need of a shower. 

Sherlock turns on the shower, undresses quickly and hops in letting the steaming hot water run over him. He closes his eyes leaning his head against the cold tile wall. Sherlock stands like that for a long while, until the water begins to feel cool against his warmed skin. He washes himself quickly, and then begins to explore his body. His hand brushes across his chest making him shiver. He allows his hand to explore lower, gliding over his pronounced hip bone, across his belly button, causing him to laugh a little, ticklish, this surprises him. He wonders why he’s never done this before. Sure he has explored himself in the past but he never took the time to notice the subtle details about himself that most notice very early on. 

Sherlock pauses a moment, smiles and then dares to explore lower. He lazily palms his flaccid cock which quickly twitches to life. He strokes slowly, intrigued at watching his own arousal which strangely enough he hasn’t really done before. Watching his hard-on become further erect has quite the effect on him. He becomes increasingly stiff in his hand, each stroke arousing him further. He can feel warmth coil in his belly, and he groans aloud as his firm grip slides over the glans. He suddenly pictures John on his knees in front of him taking Sherlock’s cock into his waiting mouth causing Sherlock to buck into his hand, stroking feverishly. 

In the cloud of steam, moaning, and pleasure Sherlock doesn’t hear John walk in to the bathroom.

John being half-asleep doesn’t notice the shower going as he walks over to the toilet, until he realizes the distinct moans coming from behind the curtain. 

John grins, relieves himself quickly then, as he washes up best he can he calls out over the moans, “Sherlock, you alright in there?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> continuation!
> 
> lots of naughty in this one!
> 
> just letting you know I may not be able to post again this weekend so I gave you two chapters today to keep you occupied!
> 
> Love you guys! Thank you!!!

Sherlock freezes, his eyes widening, he tries to stop but it’s too late and pleasure ripples through him as he comes to orgasm. He moans, “Uh, oh fuck, John…” then falls to his knees in the shower with an ‘oof’ Sherlock kneels there momentarily panting his pelvic muscles still contracting from the powerful orgasm, “Christ, oh… my… I… John? Jees-… Oh… Oh god… fuck… ”

John stifles a laugh and nearly comes to pieces as he bolts, as fast as an injured man can, out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom.

Sherlock cleans himself up quickly, towels off, dresses, and heads to the bedroom to explain, his face still flushed from the heat of the shower, his orgasm, and mostly, embarrassment. He strolls into the room to see John sitting on the edge of the bed, his mouth covered with his bandaged hands, giggling. Sherlock’s jaw slacks a bit, and he relaxes slightly, “I was… I-…” 

John cuts him off, “Hell Sherlock, everyone masturbates it’s not like you haven’t had an orgasm in front of me before” 

Sherlock flushes again, “I know… but... that’s more private…”

John laughs, “Oh stop… you are being ridiculous, Sherlock…”

Sherlock angers convinced John is making fun of him, “You stop!” Sherlock begins to walk off in a huff when he turns again to tell off John. As he turns he finally notices the look in John’s eyes. None but him would have noticed it as it was hidden under John’s thin façade of jest. Sherlock turns back and takes a few steps toward John, just to confirm what he sees. He witnesses it again, the slip in composure, the flash in John’s eyes, desire. Sherlock’s face doesn’t change in that moment, anger still boiling within him. Instead of stamping off, Sherlock thinks of another way to set John straight. 

Sherlock crosses the rest of the room in no more than three steps so he ends up standing directly in front of John. 

John glances up, confused, one eyebrow quirks upward, questioning Sherlock’s sudden change. 

Suddenly Sherlock grabs John harshly by the hair forcing him to stare directly into his eyes.

John’s heart begins to hammer in his chest the sudden very tolerable pain, startling him. He can feel blood rush downward, his cock beginning to harden in his much too restrictive jeans. 

Sherlock’s face remains stoic as he drops to his knees in front of John, “Lay back…” John obliges laying back on the bed his arousal now straining against the front of his jeans. Sherlock reaches over and quickly unfastens John’s trousers and quickly pulls them down to his ankles. 

John’s eyes widen in shock and a soft whimper escapes his mouth. 

Sherlock tries very hard not to smile and then leans forward and mouths at John’s hardening cock through his pants.

John’s hips buck when the heat of Sherlock’s breath comes in contact with his hard-on.

John groans, “Shhhherlock please, what are you... unnghhhhh. Fuck…”

Sherlock glances up, “Shut your mouth, I’m tired of hearing you talk…”

John breath gets caught in his throat and he feels a jolt straight to his groin. John bites his lip, attempting to silence himself.

Sherlock slowly pulls down John’s pants and licks at the base of John’s cock.

John exhales, and accidently lets out a quiet little squeak, causing Sherlock’s eyes to shoot up and meet John’s hungry gaze. 

Sherlock licks along the shaft teasing John, and driving him absolutely mad. 

John’s ruts his hips upward desperately searching for much needed friction against his aching arousal. He bites into his lip harder as Sherlock’s tongue grazes over the head of his cock. John tastes blood in his mouth, likely caused by him biting into his lip.

Sherlock continues to nip and lick at John’s erection causing John to writhe beneath him. When he decides he’s teased enough he pulls away and licks his finger and quickly presses it against John’s entrance. 

John breathes in sharply breaking his silence, “Sherlock! W-… What are you doing?!” 

Sherlock stops suddenly, his eyes wide, “I… I was… I’m sorry…” He begins to pull away and John stops him, “No… wait… I… it surprised me, it’s fine… I’ve just never done THAT before… go easy…”

Sherlock nods and slowly pushes his finger into John.

John squeezes his eyes shut as a burn pulls through him. It is not altogether unpleasant but definitely not something he is used to. Sherlock begins to slowly work his finger in and out of John to get him used to the sensation. John just begins to acclimate to Sherlock’s finger penetrating him when Sherlock suddenly pushes another finger in slowly, stretching him. John moans from the mixture of pain and pleasure that surges through him, causing Sherlock to smile. 

Sherlock plants a kiss on John’s thigh and continues to slide his fingers in and out of John, occasionally swirling them. 

John’s arousal is twitching with each sensation sent coursing through his body. John moans again, “Sherlooocck… What are youudoiiing… Fuckk oh Jesus…” John feels his muscles begin to tighten in his belly, “Sherlock sttoopp… Oh, OH god… You’re going to make me-…” 

At that Sherlock takes his two fingers and presses them up toward John’s pelvic bone circling firmly over John’s prostate.

A sensation of warmth ripples through John, his muscles contracting as he topples over the edge. As he orgasms he shouts, his hips bucking so Sherlock’s fingers press repeatedly into his prostate, “Ahhhhhhhhhohhhgodd… Sherlock… please don’t stop…” John’s come spills across his belly.

Sherlock falls into a fit of laughter watching John continue to writhe as his orgasm continues to cause his muscles to contract and release. 

Every time John tries to tell Sherlock to stop massaging his prostate Sherlock’s long fingers graze it again causing him to tense, cutting off his words, “Sh-… Sher-… SHERLOCK… uhhhohh god… s-… sss-… stop… plea-… please OH UNGHHH.. STOP YOU GIT!”

Sherlock pulls his fingers out and continues to laugh; “Now you know not to make fun…”

John begins to compose his frantic breaths then sarcastically says, “Oh you sure showed me… I will never, NEVER make fun of you again.”

Sherlock glares, “I’m serious! Next time I may not be as nice”

John beams, “I may like that…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just and update I left this fic off in an okay spot and I am not continuing it at this time but if people REALLY want an update I will write one!!
> 
> keep reading and i'll keep you posted! :D


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